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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354340">Young Velvet Porcelain Boy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy'>nubianamy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Apologies, Episode: s02e06 Never Been Kissed, Future Fic, Kurtofsky Week, M/M, New York City, Regret</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:14:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Macy's department store window, Dave Karofsky sees Kurt Hummel's new signature cologne: Never Been Kissed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kurt Hummel/David Karofsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Kurtofsky Week - Ten Year Anniversary</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For <a href="https://karofsky.tumblr.com/post/630911758407745536/kurtofsky-week-the-10-year-anniversary-dates">Day 1 of Kurtofsky Week, 10th Anniversary Edition</a>.  Wow, this was more fraught than I expected, but I think I got them through it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Dave turned the collar of his coat up a little higher against the brisk wind and dug his hands into his pockets as he waited at the street corner for the light to change. The pedestrian traffic near the Empire State Building was unusually busy for this time of day, but he had plenty of time to make it back to his office for his one-thirty meeting.</p><p class="p1">Halfway down the next block, he halted abruptly in front of Macy’s. There was an enormous sales display of perfumes. The man on the poster didn’t look familiar; his aesthetic was beyond anything Dave normally encountered in the course of his business day. But the expression on his face was distressing.</p><p class="p1">Dave looked again at the name that had caught his eye, in big typeface at the bottom of the poster: <em>Kurt Hummel. </em>Just above it was a phrase: <em>Never Been Kissed</em>. He had to assume, by the bottle of perfume on the poster, that the phrase was the name of the perfume.</p><p class="p1">Again, his eyes strayed to the expression in the model’s eyes. He looked… haunted. Like someone might be chasing him.</p><p class="p1">The tagline at the top, <em>You never know when it’ll happen to you,</em> seriously didn’t make being kissed sound all that fun. If Macy’s was trying to sell perfume with this ad, he couldn’t imagine they were doing very well at it.</p><p class="p1">Dave tried not to scowl. It wasn’t the mood he wanted to carry with him back to the office and his one-thirty meeting. He checked his watch. Then he pushed through the revolving door into Macy’s, glancing around to locate the perfume counter.</p><p class="p1">The woman at the counter smiled expectantly. “What can I get for you?”</p><p class="p1">“There was a poster outside,” he said, smiling back. “Never Been Kissed.”</p><p class="p1">Saying the phrase made him feel a little sick, but she nodded understanding and picked up one of the many bottles on display on the glass counter. “One of our new designer colognes for men. It’s been very popular this season.” When he looked at the bottle a little too long, she suggested, “Most people like to smell it first.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course.” He took the bottle and put it to his nose, wondering exactly how he was going to differentiate between the multitude of smells in the store and the odor coming from the bottle. What little he could detect was not unpleasant, a little like his father’s morning cup of Earl Grey and a little like his favorite leather jacket.</p><p class="p1">“Try it like this.” She mimed spraying it into the air. “Then you walk through it.”</p><p class="p1">Dave was pretty sure he’d never tried on a men’s cologne in his life. He felt a little silly bursting through the cloud of scent, like he was the statue of the Little Mermaid in Denmark, emerging from the surf onto the rocks. His nose twitched.</p><p class="p1">“Nice,” he said, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. “I’ll take a bottle.”</p><p class="p1">It cost a lot more than he’d expected to pay, but then, he hadn’t been expecting to buy a bottle of cologne at all, especially not one bearing the name of the boy he’d tormented in high school.</p><p class="p1">“Kurt Hummel, he’s a designer?” Dave asked, as she returned his credit card.</p><p class="p1">“World-famous,” she replied. “You can find his line of clothing in the men’s department. Are you looking for a suit?”</p><p class="p1">He didn’t need a suit. He didn’t need the cologne, either, but he had it now, tucked into a little Macy’s bag that was too small to hold anything ordinary. He took it with him back to his office, feeling like an idiot.</p><p class="p1">“What’s in the bag?” his secretary Meg asked, as he set the bag on her desk. She sniffed the air as he approached, making a pleased sound. “Oh, nice. Are you trying to get back together with Andrew?”</p><p class="p1">“That would be a big <em>no,”</em> Dave assured her.</p><p class="p1">She peered into the bag. “So is this for me?”</p><p class="p1">“No!” He snatched the bag up quickly. “I mean—do you like it?”</p><p class="p1">Clearly she did, but her next comment erased whatever good feelings he’d garnered from her blissful inhalation: “I didn’t think you were the kind of guy who cared to make a statement.”</p><p class="p1">He thought about it all afternoon, through his one-thirty and well into his two-fifteen. What kind of a <em>statement</em> did tea and leather make, exactly? Was it meant to be defensive, like armor, or offensive, like a weapon? Was the guy on the poster wearing the expensively tailored outfit worried that somebody, smelling like that, was about to reach out and grab his face in both hands and—</p><p class="p1">“Mr. Karofsky?” said his three o’clock client, looking nervous. “Are you okay?”</p><p class="p1">“Fine,” he said. He straightened his tie, trying to wipe away whatever expression had been on his face, and replace it with generic pleasantness.</p><p class="p1">The guy on the poster definitely wasn’t expecting pleasantness.Whatever was after him, it didn’t appear to be something that would sit patiently in a waiting room at three o’clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday and say all the right things. No, this guy was obviously prepared for something much… racier.</p><p class="p1">After his three o’clock left, Dave headed upstairs to the fifth floor to talk with the VP for communications. As he entered the elevator, the mail clerk turned toward him. Judging by the expression on his face, something had clearly struck his—Dave turned away, trying not to blush, and waited out the elevator ride in awkward silence.</p><p class="p1">“Is that a new haircut, Mr. Karofsky?” asked the VP’s secretary upon his arrival.</p><p class="p1">It was almost absurd, Dave thought, that the addition of one more sense to his personal interactions was having such an impact. But then, he’d never really thought about it like that before, had he? Certainly he wanted to look good and sound good. Why wouldn’t he want to smell good, too?</p><p class="p1">He considered the remaining senses as he returned to the elevator. Taste and touch were senses that wouldn’t likely come into play in a business setting. As a matter of fact, there weren’t too many activities that would engage both of those senses <em>other</em> than kissing.</p><p class="p1">That same mail clerk was in the elevator on the way back down, too. Dave raised an eyebrow before stepping in, and the clerk laughed self-consciously.</p><p class="p1">“Did you forget something?” Dave said.</p><p class="p1">“Not actually,” admitted the clerk. “I wanted to ask if you might want to grab a drink after work?”</p><p class="p1">They exchanged numbers and agreed to meet at a bar Dave had never heard of, but that wasn’t surprising. The clerk, Ryan, had already known that Dave was both gay and recently single; he must have done enough research to also discover that Dave’s social life essentially stopped at the glass doors of his office building.</p><p class="p1">And now, here Dave was, going on a date with Ryan, the undeniably cute office clerk. Because of how <em>Kurt Hummel </em>thought he should smell.</p><p class="p1">“Did you ask me out because of my cologne?” Dave managed to ask Ryan, after their second drink.</p><p class="p1">“Maybe,” Ryan said. “Or maybe it was just the tipping point.”</p><p class="p1">“What kind of a statement do you think it makes?”</p><p class="p1">Ryan grinned. “That you want somebody to get close enough to catch another whiff?”</p><p class="p1">By drink three, Dave realized he did not actually want Ryan to get that close, but it wasn’t until drink four that he thought he’d figured out the reason.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry,” Dave said. “I appreciate you asking me out, but I think I’d better go home.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh.” Ryan looked crestfallen. “Can I ask why?”</p><p class="p1"><em>I’m mad at the guy who designed this cologne,</em> Dave couldn’t say. Instead, he told him, “I’m not over somebody else yet.”</p><p class="p1">“Bummer.” Ryan shrugged. “Well, whoever he is, he’s an idiot for breaking up with you.”</p><p class="p1">“We never dated,” Dave said. “He probably doesn’t even remember who I am, as a matter of fact.”</p><p class="p1">But Dave was pretty sure Kurt <em>did </em>remember him. Especially when he looked at that poster for <em>Never Been Kissed</em> cologne, at the expression on the impeccably-dressed man fleeing the scene. <em>You never know when it will happen to you.</em></p><p class="p1">Dave went home on the subway and spent the next hour stalking Kurt Hummel’s Instagram. It was full of brooding men in expensive suits. The photos of Kurt himself were not brooding at all. He appeared to be in good spirits. He had filled out in the chest and shoulders since high school, and had put on a little weight. Whatever ways he’d matured, they’d only served to make him more shockingly beautiful.</p><p class="p1">Of all the people Dave could call to find out more details about Kurt Hummel’s whereabouts, there was only one he could imagine picking up the phone when they saw who was calling.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Well, if it isn’t David Karofsky,” </em>Santana said. She sounded legitimately surprised. <em>“What the hell have you been up to? Are you still in New York?”</em></p><p class="p1">“I’m with Radegen. Sports management. Our offices are on west 36th. What’s new with you?”</p><p class="p1">After filling him in on her marriage to Brittany, which he knew about, and her most recent roles in commercials, which he didn’t, she concluded with, <em>“So why are you really calling, Dave?”</em></p><p class="p1">“This is going to sound weird,” he said, “but I think I need to talk to Kurt Hummel. Do you have his number?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I’m not giving it to you unless you tell me more than that.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">Four drinks was enough to tear down most of his filter. “I’m wearing his cologne. It’s called Never Been Kissed. I think—“ He swallowed. “I think it’s about me.”</p><p class="p1"><em>“Cologne’s not about something, Dave.” </em>She sounded scornful. <em>“It just smells nice.” </em> But she did text him the number. She even added, <em>“He doesn’t live that far from west 36th.”</em></p><p class="p1">Dave shouldn’t have been surprised Kurt still lived in New York City, but he was. At least he had the wherewithal not to call him under the influence of four drinks. He saved the number in his phone, took two ibuprofen, and went to bed, still smelling like leather and Earl Grey.</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">Dave’s courage was significantly diminished by morning. It took him all day to muster it up again, and by then, it was almost four-thirty.</p><p class="p1">“Can you hold my calls?” he asked Meg. “This one is personal.”</p><p class="p1">She didn’t ask for details, but she watched him close the door to his office. He perched on the edge of his desk and fiddled with the cuffs of his entirely serviceable but off-the-rack suit as the phone rang once, twice, three times.</p><p class="p1">It went to voicemail, which Dave had expected. A famous designer wouldn’t pick up for an unknown caller. He hadn’t, however, expected to hear Kurt’s own voice say liltingly, <em>“You know what to do.” </em></p><p class="p1">“Oh, hey, Kurt,” he stammered after the tone. There was no way he sounded like himself, any more than that compelling tea-and-leather scent smelled like him. “It’s… Dave. Karofsky. It turns out we’re both in the same city. Anyway, I, uh, I saw your name on a poster the other day, and I thought we could… catch up. If you have a moment, give me a call. Well… take care.”</p><p class="p1">A degree in business communication had definitely not prepared him for leaving a message on the voicemail of a man who sounded like <em>that.</em> He tossed his phone on the desk and buried his face in his hand, letting out a mortified groan.</p><p class="p1">“Meg,” he called, opening the door. “Who’s the best-dressed guy in our building?”</p><p class="p1">“Aaron Fletcher, probably,” she said. “In Accounts.”</p><p class="p1">“Can you see if he hasn’t left yet?” He looked down at his suit and set his jaw. “I think I’m ready to make a bigger statement.”</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">The tailor Aaron recommended cost considerably more than the cologne had, but seeing as how most of Dave’s paycheck usually went into investments and savings, he figured he could divert a little toward a makeover. He wondered if he <em>should</em> get a new haircut.</p><p class="p1">Kurt didn’t call him back, but Dave didn’t really expect him to. If Kurt had called him and left a message like that on Dave’s voicemail, Dave probably wouldn’t have called him back either.</p><p class="p1">He did hunt down Ryan in the mailroom and apologize, in full sight and sound of several of his curious colleagues.</p><p class="p1">“That was really inconsiderate of me,” he said. “I should have said something in the elevator when you asked me out. You just caught me off guard.”</p><p class="p1">“No, it’s cool,” Ryan assured him, smiling. “Hey, if you ever want to get a beer, just let me know.”</p><p class="p1">Dave thought he probably wouldn’t. It wasn’t that Ryan wasn’t good-looking, either, because he definitely was. He was even better-looking than his ex-boyfriend Andrew, with whom Dave had spent an entire year and a half, and he would have given Sam Evans a run for his money. It wasn’t about what they looked like.</p><p class="p1">It wasn’t even about what <em>he</em> looked like, but when he finally slid his arms in the arms of the bespoke suit and gazed at himself in the full-length mirror, he was a little surprised by what he saw. He straightened his shoulders, nodding.</p><p class="p1">“You look ready to break some hearts,” said the tailor, with clear approval.</p><p class="p1">“Oh,” Dave said, watching his smile vanish in the mirror. “Uh… I don’t really want to break anything.”</p><p class="p1">He considered sending Andrew a picture of himself in the suit, just to get an honest opinion from someone who’d thought he looked fine in his old clothes, but the tailor’s comment changed his mind. Whatever Dave was trying to achieve by changing up his wardrobe, he didn’t want to manipulate anybody, especially not someone as nice as Andrew.</p><p class="p1"><em>When you figure out what you want,</em> Andrew had said after Dave had decided to move out, <em>I’ll be here.</em></p><p class="p1">What he wanted was more clear to him now. Whether or not it was achievable was another question.</p><p class="p1">The second time he called Kurt, he was ready to hear his voice before leaving a message. He was not ready for Kurt himself to pick up and say, <em>“Hello?” </em></p><p class="p1">“Hey, Kurt,” he said. “It’s Dave Karofsky.”</p><p class="p1"><em>“So it is.” </em>Kurt paused before adding, <em>“I was surprised to hear from you, before.” </em></p><p class="p1">“I was surprised to be calling you.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Uh… you did do the calling?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, but… I mean, I didn’t expect to want to.” Now he was sweating in his brand-new suit. “But then I saw the display at Macy’s about your cologne.”</p><p class="p1">This time the pause went on longer. Dave heard Kurt sigh. It was funny how that sigh dug in under his skin and made him feel even more tense.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I suppose you deserve an explanation about that.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">“If you have one, yeah. I mean, that would… I would appreciate it. The picture, it kind of got to me.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Do you want to meet?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">He did and he didn’t, but he felt like he really needed to get clear of whatever he was holding onto, and he wasn’t sure he could do it over the phone. “Sure. Yes. My office is at west 36<span class="s1"><sup>th</sup></span> and 5<span class="s1"><sup>th</sup></span>.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I’ll get us a table at Ai Fiori. Is five-thirty too early?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">Dave wasn’t going to ask how Kurt was going to manage to get a table at a restaurant that had a several-week waiting list. He just said, “Sure,” again, and then added, in case it hadn’t been clear, “It’s not too early.”</p><p class="p1">He didn’t manage to get much work done after that. He just tortured himself by replaying that horrible kiss, over and over inside his head. <em>It doesn’t have to be that way!</em> he wanted to shout at the man on the poster. <em>You have agency! You get to say no!</em> It was even worse than any form of torture, because the bad guy was <em>himself,</em> and it was far too late for Dave to stop him. </p><p class="p1">Kurt was already standing within the darkened foyer when Dave arrived. He didn’t appear to want a hug or anything, but he did offer a handshake. Dave took it.</p><p class="p1">“You look good,” Kurt said. “I like that suit.”</p><p class="p1">Kurt himself also looked good, but Dave figured he didn’t need to hear that from him. “Thanks. I never realized the difference a custom-tailored suit can make.”</p><p class="p1">“Like butter and margarine.” Kurt made a gruesome face, and Dave had to laugh.</p><p class="p1">He let Kurt order the wine. There was no way he was going to pretend to know more than Kurt about French varietals.</p><p class="p1">“So,” Kurt said. He set his menu on the table and leaned in closer. The table was small enough that if Dave did the same, they would be perilously close to one another, so he stayed where he was. “You don’t need to know the whole history about how I ended up in fashion design. Would it be okay if I started with <em>Macys asked me to develop a signature cologne to accompany a particular line of clothing?”</em></p><p class="p1">“That’s fine,” Dave said, “by all means, yes.”</p><p class="p1">“I made a few tactical errors along the way, dealing with some specific ad executives. I think my own awareness of fashion trends, not to mention being seen as a favorite at Vogue.com, meant that I thought I would have more control over the finished ad copy than I did.” He sighed, staring at the table. “By the time I saw the roughs, it was… too late. They’d already gone to press.”</p><p class="p1">Dave wanted to say <em>hey, no, it’s okay,</em> but that would really just not be true. He waited where he was as the waiter brought their wine, and Kurt appeared to wrestle with the words inside his head.</p><p class="p1">“Can you tell me why you decided to choose that name for a cologne?” Dave managed to ask. “And… the tagline?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah.” Kurt didn’t touch his wine. His fingertips pressed together, firmly enough that they turned white. “Design can be… a visceral process. I’m always looking to evoke a mood with my line of clothing. Even more so with scent. Which is just to say, I was hoping to tap into the mood of being… pursued.” His eyes flickered up to Dave’s, then back down when he saw the expression of horror on Dave’s face.</p><p class="p1">“What I did to you, that wasn’t okay,” Dave insisted.</p><p class="p1">“No, I know,” Kurt said quickly. “It wasn’t—I never thought it was. I didn’t know you wanted—I mean, the whole thing was terrifying. For you, too, I imagine.”</p><p class="p1">“What the hell, Kurt.” He shook his head. “Why would you want to memorialize that event in <em>any</em> way? Years later and I’m still trying to forget it.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, well, I thought maybe it was a little more elegant a name than <em>Gorilla Suit.”</em></p><p class="p1">Dave gaped at Kurt for a long moment. Finally Kurt sighed again, more emphatically this time.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry that seeing that ad brought up bad feelings. I get it, I do. I don’t think I ever really reconciled my own feelings about that moment.”</p><p class="p1">“Nobody should ever feel the way I made you feel.” It wasn’t easy for Dave to keep his tone even. The last thing he wanted to do was to yell at Kurt inside this posh French restaurant. “More importantly, what makes you think <em>any</em> guy needs encouragement to become a—a predator?”</p><p class="p1">Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. “Is that how you felt? About me? Like you were hunting me? Trying to take me down with your words so I would… what? Stop being a distracting target?”</p><p class="p1">Dave tried to ignore his heart thundering in his chest. “My therapist says I was seeking attention. Like a kid does. Any attention was better than none, from you. It was easier for me to pretend I hated you than to come to terms with my actual feelings.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah. Your actual feelings. That was a shock. Like one of those optical illusions, where first it looks like a rabbit and then you go, <em>holy shit, it’s a duck.”</em> Kurt laughed, quick and mirthless. “It wasn’t easy to make the switch in my brain from <em>he thinks I’m disgusting,</em> to <em>he wants to kiss me. </em>Do you know why?”</p><p class="p1">In the present moment, dazed by the words he’d already said, cringing at the ones he wanted to say, Dave didn’t. He shook his head and took a sip of wine, praying he wouldn’t spill it on the tablecloth.</p><p class="p1">“Because I spent so many years wondering if I would ever be desirable. To anybody. There was a time I honestly wondered if there was even one other gay teenager in all of Ohio, and what I would have to do to find them.” Kurt’s words were coming out rapid-fire, terse and clipped. Dave thought there might be tears behind them, but he saw no sign of them. “You were just another person mirroring my thoughts to me, that I was… nobody important. Unworthy of being wanted.”</p><p class="p1">It was such a crazy idea that Dave laughed. Kurt glared at him before going on.</p><p class="p1">“Even after that, it took me a while to realize what your actions meant. I hated you for stealing my first kiss from me, but I hated you even more for making me think I was beneath your notice.”</p><p class="p1">“Everybody noticed you, Kurt,” Dave said. “Everybody. Especially me.”</p><p class="p1">Kurt considered him. From a distance of less than six feet, the impact of his gaze was formidable. Dave sat there, caught by the force of his presence, and felt himself despair as he fell in love with him all over again.</p><p class="p1">“I know that now,” Kurt said quietly. “I appreciated your efforts to make it better. The apology in the hallway, the Valentine’s Day candy, the cards… everything. It was so sweet.”</p><p class="p1">Kurt reached out and touched Dave’s hand. Dave stared at it, barely feeling the contact, wondering if it was really happening or if he was just imagining it.</p><p class="p1">“I couldn’t erase that moment. Knowing your actions were driven by fear and self-hatred didn’t make them okay. But realizing what you were really saying was <em>I want you</em>, that did change things for me, later. Even if the way you did it was completely twisted and sad.”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t try to tell me what I did was okay.” Dave could hear his own voice trembling. “You can’t let me apologize for—for hate-kissing you in the locker room.”</p><p class="p1">“I never thought you were trying to apologize for that.” Kurt was smiling. How could he be <em>smiling?</em></p><p class="p1">“What is it?” Dave had to ask eventually.</p><p class="p1">“You’re wearing my cologne,” Kurt said.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” he admitted.</p><p class="p1">“That’s…” Kurt licked his lips. “That’s hotter than that suit.”</p><p class="p1">Dave made himself keep breathing in and out as Kurt picked up his wine glass and drank. His other hand wasn’t touching Dave’s anymore, but it was close, like at any moment, he might reach out and seize Dave’s fingers.</p><p class="p1">“The cologne got me a date,” Dave said. “Ryan the mail clerk asked me out after smelling it in the elevator.”</p><p class="p1">Kurt’s smile widened. “Is that right? Did you say yes?”</p><p class="p1">“I did.”</p><p class="p1">He could have left it there, but Kurt’s absurd statement, <em>I spent so many years wondering if I would be desirable to anybody,</em> spurred him on. There was no way he was going to leave the restaurant without Kurt being very clear about how desirable he was. He took a deep breath.</p><p class="p1">“I ended it quickly, though. I told him there was somebody else. Somebody I never got over.” He watched Kurt’s expression shift from confused to disbelieving to overwhelmed in the space of five seconds, but he made himself keep talking. “Because even though he was the one who asked me out, the whole time, I was thinking about you.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh.” It was a little exhalation, and Kurt left it there. He looked like he might be having trouble breathing, too, as he stared at Dave with wide eyes.</p><p class="p1">“Which, I know, is kind of ridiculous after how many years? I was pissed at you about the cologne ad, but I still bought a bottle of it. Still wore it. And it worked. So…” He shrugged. “Maybe that ad was more effective than I’d originally thought.”</p><p class="p1">“David,” Kurt protested, like Dave had said something hurtful. Maybe he had. It was so hard to tell with Kurt, what was going to hurt and what was going to feel amazing. Sometimes it was both at once.</p><p class="p1">Dave wanted to push his chair out from the table and flee the scene. The way Kurt was looking at him, so regretful, so <em>kind,</em> it made him want to scream. But he stayed where he was.</p><p class="p1">“You know, I spent years thinking you thought I was disgusting, too?”</p><p class="p1">“I never thought you were disgusting,” Kurt said. “I wanted… to hurt you with my words. To make you feel as awful as you made me feel. I’m sorry it worked.”</p><p class="p1">“You don’t get to say you’re sorry,” Dave said. The words were quiet, but Kurt flinched anyway. “Not for any of it. I told you I was in love with you, and you turned me down. There’s nothing wrong with that. You always get to walk away.”</p><p class="p1">Kurt laughed helplessly. He opened his hand and gestured at the table. “Do you see me walking away?”</p><p class="p1">He left his hand open on the table. Dave watched it cautiously for a little while. Then he reached out and placed his hand on top of Kurt’s. When Kurt squeezed it, he was suddenly so dizzy, he thought he might pass out. They both chuckled at the same time.</p><p class="p1">“I have no idea what happens next,” Dave admitted.</p><p class="p1">“I think what happens is, we sit here and finish our wine.” Kurt reached into the pocket of his blazer and set his phone on the table. “Then I call Hannah in the Macy’s marketing department and tell them to pull that ad. I don’t want to feel responsible for making anybody feel… the way you felt, when you saw it. I can definitely shoot a little higher than <em>predatory gay.”</em></p><p class="p1">“Yeah.” Dave felt a wave of relief. “On behalf of all formerly conflicted gay kids who choose to wear your cologne, I would appreciate that.”</p><p class="p1">“All right.” Kurt eyed him curiously. “And maybe I can persuade you to stick around for dinner?”</p><p class="p1">For the rest of the evening, Dave couldn’t help but feel a little like prey, himself. Every time Kurt nudged their knees together under the table, or let his smile linger a little too long, Dave wondered if that was going to be the moment Kurt stood up and laughed in his face and walked out.</p><p class="p1">“I’m having a little trouble with this,” Dave told him over dessert.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, sorry.” Kurt slid the plate of raspberry torte closer to him. “Was I hogging? This is my favorite—”</p><p class="p1">“No, no. I mean… this. All the things we’ve said. Being here with you. What does this mean?”</p><p class="p1">“I think we get to figure that out together,” Kurt said softly. “What do you want it to mean?”</p><p class="p1">Dave’s answer to that question was far too specific for him to say it. Not yet, anyway. But the idea that he might have a chance, someday, to tell Kurt what he wanted it to mean, that was enough to put a smile on his face. Kurt blinked, and smiled back, tentatively at first, then with more confidence. When he leaned in closer, Kurt did, too. </p><p class="p1">“I’ve made my statement,” Dave said. “Thanks for paying attention.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, yeah,” Kurt breathed, laughing, and kissed him. “I’m definitely paying attention.”</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <em>Young velvet porcelain boy<br/>
</em>
  <em>Devour me when you're with me<br/>
</em>
  <em>Blue wish window seas</em><br/>
<em>Speak delicious fires<br/>
</em>
  <em>I'm your candy perfume girl</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>- <a href="https://youtu.be/oULzwvGdimQ">Madonna, “Candy Perfume Girl”</a></em>
</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dave discovers what Kurt and his friends promised to one another on the sidewalk, ten years earlier, and decides to do something about it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For <a href="https://karofsky.tumblr.com/post/630911758407745536/kurtofsky-week-the-10-year-anniversary-dates">Day 8 of Kurtofsky Week, 10th Anniversary Edition</a> (10 Years Later). </p><p>I thought I'd wrap things up where I started for the ten year anniversary. Happy Kurtofsky Week! -amy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Dave passed by the brownstone every day on his way to work, but it wasn’t until he was walking there with Kurt that he found out it had once belonged to Mercedes Jones.</p><p class="p1">“Why did she sell it?” he had to ask Kurt.</p><p class="p1">“Who knows.” Kurt glanced up at the taller buildings surrounding them, then at the stone railing, the bench in front of the door. “I doubt it's about the money. She’s not exactly top forty anymore, but I can only assume she makes plenty on ASCAP royalties. Maybe she decided New York wasn’t her speed.”</p><p class="p1">Kurt liked Mercedes, and enjoyed talking with her on occasion, but Dave didn’t think she was likely to be responsible for putting that sad expression on Kurt’s face. He watched Kurt sigh, and reached out to touch his arm. “What?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s nothing.” Kurt shook his head. “Really. When Rachel and I were roommates, back in our NYADA days, the whole group of us, we made a promise to each other: that we’d meet back at that spot, six months later, no matter what. That we’d always be there for one another.”</p><p class="p1">Dave nodded. “Were you?”</p><p class="p1">“No.” He looked at the sidewalk. “I was the only one who showed up, six months later. Rachel went to LA and her show crashed and burned, and Blaine and I broke up, and it was… I was there, alone. I made it a ritual, but it was like that every year. Some years I don’t even bother to show up anymore. I doubt anybody else remembers we even agreed to it.”</p><p class="p1">Dave thought about that for a couple of months. Kurt’s career was far from solitary. Although he spent a good deal of time in the public eye, Dave knew Kurt preferred to spend most of his down time alone, with Dave. This was the first time it occurred to Dave that Kurt might be lonely.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, do you remember that time when you and Kurt agreed you would come back to that spot on the sidewalk, after six months away?” he asked Santana one evening on the phone. "Outside Mercedes' brownstone?"</p><p class="p1"><em>“I thought it was outside the loft,”</em> she said. <em>“Nobody took that seriously. It was just something Rachel Berry said. Now look at her; she’s got her kid and Jesse St. Smarmy Pants. Who wants to see her anyway?”</em></p><p class="p1">“I wouldn’t know.” Dave tapped his kitchen counter. “I don’t even know where anybody ended up. Does Kurt talk to her anymore?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“He doesn’t talk to me. I think you might be the only one who does talk to him, Dave.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">It wasn’t a satisfactory answer. It didn’t matter how famous Kurt Hummel was. It might be ten years later for everybody else, but clearly for Kurt, he’d never gotten past year one.</p><p class="p1">Dave began making calls. Santana helped him figure out who had probably been there than night. Sam, Mercedes, Rachel, Artie. And Blaine. He was the hardest one to reconnect with, mostly because Blaine clearly didn’t want to answer Dave’s calls.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want to, you know, rub it in his face or anything,” Dave said to Rachel. “Sure, Kurt broke up with him, but... it’s been ten years, right?”</p><p class="p1"><em>“Blaine is sensitive,”</em> Rachel replied. <em>“But I think I can get him to come. Just tell us when to be there.”</em></p><p class="p1">Dave had to talk around it. He didn’t want to draw Kurt’s attention to the date too much, but he also didn’t want to seem forgetful. He needn’t have worried. Kurt showed him the exact date on the calendar in his kitchen, marked with a yellow circle.</p><p class="p1">“How about you and I make plans for that night?” Dave suggested. “Wherever you want to go for dinner.”</p><p class="p1">Kurt was the one with all the contacts at downtown restaurants, but he didn’t choose a fancy Manhattan restaurant. It was a little Thai restaurant in Bushwick.</p><p class="p1">“I really liked their Pad Thai,” Kurt said wistfully. “Better than anything I’ve had in any other city, even in Bangkok. Maybe it’s just a wish for simpler times.I don’t know.”</p><p class="p1">That made it a little more complicated, but only a little. Dave got them matinee tickets for a show he knew Kurt liked as a way for them to be downtown before dinner. It was not out of the ordinary that they ended up walking around that spot on that particular day.</p><p class="p1">But then Kurt spotted Artie, sitting there grinning on the sidewalk. "Hey, what's cookin', good lookin'?"</p><p class="p1">“Oh, my god, I can’t believe you’re here!” He entirely dispensed with whatever aloof designer stereotype he occasionally affected and flung his arms around Artie’s neck, laughing. “This is so—<em>Rachel?”</em></p><p class="p1">“It is so Rachel,” she agreed, giggling at his stunned expression.</p><p class="p1">Kurt hugged her, too, then grabbed both her shoulders. “What the hell is this?”</p><p class="p1">“I think you could call it a Karofsky-vention,” Santana called from the door of her cab, strategically parked by the curb. She let Sam help her out of the car. “Seriously, he wins for most subtle.”</p><p class="p1">Kurt wasn’t exactly bawling, but his eyes were definitely shiny.</p><p class="p1">“Your fault, huh?” he demanded. When Dave shrugged, Kurt hugged him too.</p><p class="p1">Dave got a hug from most of them, actually, including Artie, but Blaine stayed apart, smiling wistfully. None of them seemed to be surprised by Kurt’s decision to remain in New York this season, or by Dave’s continued presence.</p><p class="p1">“How did you get them all to agree to come?” Kurt asked curiously, on their way over to the Bushwick Thai place for the dinner Dave had arranged in their banquet room.</p><p class="p1">“I just had to remind them of what brought them together.”</p><p class="p1">"You mean me?"</p><p class="p1">Dave shook his head when Kurt looked overwhelmed. “Yeah, I do mean you. You really think so little of yourself?”</p><p class="p1">“I—no. Not me.” But he smiled gratefully. “Thank you. This was really wonderful.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s not over yet,” Dave said.</p><p class="p1">The Thai food was, if not quite as good as Kurt had remembered it being, at least good enough to warrant a twenty minute subway ride from Manhattan. Dave listened to Kurt talk in animated tones to everybody for the entire evening, catching up with his friends, and felt enormously pleased by the whole thing. He was also a little puzzled. </p><p class="p1">“You could call them any time,” he told Kurt on the way back to his apartment.</p><p class="p1">“I know I could. That’s not the part that’s getting me.” Kurt touched his hand. “It’s that you <em>did.”</em></p><p class="p1">He reveled in Kurt’s lingering kiss. Even after months together, everything Kurt did still felt like an inspiration.</p><p class="p1">“I love you,” Kurt said, leaning his head briefly on Dave’s shoulder. “And that was the nicest thing anybody’s done for me in a long time. It’ll take a lot to top that.”</p><p class="p1">Dave felt in his pocket for the engagement ring he’d stashed there, and smiled. “I’ll check with you in the morning.”</p>
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